


i'm lost in admiration, could i need you this much?

by hazelpeach



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Recovering, First Aid, Gen, Missions, Neck Kissing, Protective Bucky Barnes, Tending to Wounds, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, i would say sorry but i'm not sorry for writing this at all, yeah baby i'm giving you ALL the unresolved shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27588485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelpeach/pseuds/hazelpeach
Summary: "I'm serious." You press after a moment, hating the modesty he presents you with. Just once you'd like him to realize what a generous, wonderful, gentle and caring soul he is, instead of letting the maggots of his past infest their way into every crevice of his brain. He looks at you, his eyes locking with yours for the first time tonight, his metal arm clenching by his side. You two stay like this for what feels like hours, staring at each other in question, before Bucky makes a move you'd never expect him to.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	i'm lost in admiration, could i need you this much?

**Author's Note:**

> woohoo. first fic in a while! hope you enjoy some semi-angst <3

It wasn't Bucky's fault he found you so late, just like it wasn't your fault you ended up in this mess. It was only your third mission after all, and your ambitious soul hadn't fully grasped onto the Avengers way of life quite yet. 

The last thing you saw before you heard the familiar sounds of heavy fists slamming down on already cracked bones was the eyes of your target gleaming down on you, a knowing smirk painted on the man's charred and battered face. A conman and a well known hitman, he had a way with words that covered up the scars that were scattered all around his pale skin. 

You watched as Bucky beats the man half to death, before Steve has to rush in and tear him off of his semi-lifeless body, Bucky panting and growling like a rabid dog. He had been cleared to go on missions months ago, but his emotions were still not completely in check. Although he's terrified of hurting people, especially the ones he holds dear, he still tends to let his passion and fury get the better of him. This had concerned the others, but Steve always insisted they continue to let Bucky on missions, claiming he's a viable asset with skills they could benefit from. Reluctantly, they always agreed.

This is how you ended up where you are now. You had insisted you were fine, rejecting Steve's attempts at trying to get you medical attention, but this didn't convince Bucky. He had dragged you into the bathroom in your room, grabbing a first aid kit from the cupboard above and all but slamming it on the counter next to you. Mumbling an apology after seeing you jump at the rough action, he grabs what he needs, opting to start swabbing at the blood on your face. 

His touch is rough and uncalculated, the soft texture of the cotton ball he's using sending unpleasant shivers down your spine. He's intense. You would be worried if it was anyone other than Bucky showcasing this level of intensity, but it's him. You're used to it. You've heard the way his boots slam on the ground as he strides to whichever room he needs to go to. You've heard his voice raise in anger. But it's never irrational. His anger and disposition is always for good reason. He's scared of hurting people, and you know that, that's why you can see the regret and sadness in his eyes whenever he has to showcase his frustrations. It's almost heartbreaking.

The blood underneath your fingernails begins to dry up as your palms turn white, gripping the edge of the bathroom counter so tight you think you might break it. Bucky’s eyes are anywhere but you, trying not to show you the pure worry that’s glimmering in his eyes, opting to anxiously peel the skin off of his bottom lip instead of facing up to his own emotions. He’s a good length away from you, only ever touching you when he needs to tend to your wounds, eyes skimming the first aid kid so rapidly it’s like it’s a ticking time bomb. "You might need stitches." He says it so quietly you almost didn't hear it, but nonetheless, you wince at the words. You pray he doesn't notice your immediate reaction, but he does, letting out an almost amused huff of air. "Relax. It's not immediate. It can wait." 

You're lucky to get the tall end of the stick when it comes to battle wounds. Your fellow Avengers have always been worrisome about letting you out into danger, hopping in to help you at anytime you need, leading to you being the one with the least wounds. It's not as if you can't fend for yourself. You can. It's the non supercharged, human aspects of you. All you have are your fighting skills and knowledge of weaponry. You weren't blessed with super serums or mutant genes. 

This has always lead to you never having to have constant medical attention or having your wounds stitched up, which you're thankful for. You'd never tell anyone, but you weren't the biggest fan of needles. 

"Thank you, Bucky." You speak, filling the brief silence that wafted over you two. He shrugs it off, putting the supplies back into the kit before closing it back up. This isn't the first time he's done this for you. The last few missions, hell, even in day-to-day life, Bucky has always been there for you, whether it's medically or emotionally. You had opened up to him about your nightmares, just like he had opened up to you about his. You two had a lot in common despite the large difference between your lives.

Your friends have noticed this. They've noticed the times when you and Bucky are both asleep on the couch in the morning after talking to each other all night. They've noticed how he's bought you coffee more times than you've bought it for yourself. They've noticed the snickers and inside jokes you share. They've noticed the way Bucky lets you braid his hair when he's feeling down and needs a pick-me-up. It's obvious, the tension floating between the air, but you know he's afraid. You've seen the look in his eyes. He's scared he'll hurt you. He's not the same, confident lover boy he was before, but instead, he's a silent, shy man, so fragile you'd think you'd break him with the smallest touch. Everything about him is contradictory. He's so strong, built with brute force, but his soul is so weak and worn down. The man has tried so hard to let himself go freely, try and wander the city streets as he did before, but nothing ever sticks. 

"I'm serious." You press after a moment, hating the modesty he presents you with. Just once you'd like him to realize what a generous, wonderful, gentle and caring soul he is, instead of letting the maggots of his past infest their way into every crevice of his brain. He looks at you, his eyes locking with yours for the first time tonight, his metal arm clenching by his side. You two stay like this for what feels like hours, staring at each other in question, before Bucky makes a move you'd never expect him to.

His flesh hand slowly plants itself on the inside of your thigh, pressing down lightly, and you automatically spread your legs, as if he was controlling your movements. He stares at you, scanning your face for any sign of rejection or fear, but when he finds none, he moves forward, planting himself to stand in between your open legs. His hand moves upwards, fingers lightly brushing the skin of your arm, before it rests itself on the curve of your cheek, brushing his thumb across the skin there. His eyes glimmer with something different, something you've never seen.

Bucky leans forward, and you brace yourself for a kiss, but his head moves in another direction completely. He pushes his head in your neck, resting it on your shoulder, breathing in your scent for just a moment. It's a heavy, shaky breath, and his entire body moves you with the force of it. A light, small, airy touch is presented on your neck, and it takes you a moment to realize he's just planted a kiss there. By the time you do, he's planted another, and another, and another, and he keeps going until he's sure there's not a piece of skin he hasn't left untouched by his warm mouth.

You can't help the gasp that escapes your lips as he begins suckling at the skin in the middle of your neck, his teeth grazing and nibbling softly at the pressure point there. You don't know what to do with your hands. You don't know what to do with anything. The moment feels so surreal, but you can feel it, God, you can feel it. The heat coming off his warm body and onto yours, his hair brushing your collarbone, his lips making a home on your neck and the cold of his metal arm grasping onto your waist to keep you steady. Your eyes are fluttering, but you can't find yourself to close them, too scared you'll drift off into another world where this isn't happening. Your hand lifts up, grasping onto the fabric of his shirt tightly, feeling the softness between your fingers. Your toes curl at a certain bite on your neck, and you're certain his leaving bruises, but the thought of it is anything but unappealing. The idea of him marking you as his territory sets a flame within you.

Bucky's breath is heavy against your neck, and you swear you can hear his heart beating through the material of his shirt. He parts his mouth from your neck, lightly brushing his lips against your skin, and both of you pause. You stand there, completely still, nothing to be heard except for you and Bucky's labored breathing.

He pulls away completely, taking a step back in such a way that makes you scared he's regretting what he's done. He's not looking at you, but instead staring at the hard floor, and his flesh hand goes to grasp the top of his metal arm. He finally looks up at you, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips parted.

"....G'night."

The words leave him so quickly you forget them almost immediately, and he turns, leaving your sight and out of your bedroom.


End file.
